Llaalnea and Nibani fic
by neverending-hate
Summary: A scene between my OC and Nibani Maesa.


**I would just like to say first off that this is the first fic or piece of writing I have ever written. I don't normally write or read that much other than fanfics on here, so reviews or critique would be very helpful. I would also like to say thank you to the wonderful Peeves for inspiring me to start writing and always being amazing.**

**I may write another chapter to this sometime. I already have a plan of what to write.**

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><p>The flames raced around the yurt, surrounding and engulfing all the objects within. The cracked lamps that had once been the main light source of the small, dingy space now remained dead and cold – long without life or oil. As the fire in the centre of the room bitterly spat out ash, the entire room filled with the stench of smoke and the darkened room let out a red and orange glow in return – dipping every now and again in colour and shade as the fire died down and then became strong again. The matured wood from the decrepit table, leant against the wall, occasionally creaked from the weight of the contents being supported by it. A metallic bowl filled with some potions, all Restoration based, several soul gems and scrolls. Next to which lied some assortment of foods. A few Ash Yams, several Bittergreen Petals, some Marshmerrow and some Crab Meat all lay side by side, gathered around in front of a small statue. The miniature face of Azura glowed in the flames light, her beaming wisdom gazing upon the scene before her.<p>

A single strand on the darkest brown hair fell in front of a pair of hypnotised, red eyes. A single, bony hand reached up and flicked the lonesome hair back behind an ash-coloured, blue tinted ear, finishing with a pointed tip. The same fingers of the hand traced a line down the side of the child's face softly with a careful, accidental touch and fell once more into her lap where they rested, heated up from the warmth of the fire. The child wiggled her toes and curled them as tiny flames danced around her feet, nearly catching them a few times as they rested still on the once vibrant, orange mat now dampened by the layers of thick ash that coated each strand of material.

She gripped the mat beneath her as her hands entwined with the grasps of fibres latching around her fingers. Her eyes bore into the flames which the fire in front of her presented, catching her in a never ending trance. They danced, sang and looked straight through her like no one else ever had – almost reading her everything thought and memory. Her eyes shook slightly in that cage that is her skull as she stared deeply into the fire. Suddenly, through her wide eyes, she saw the flames changed from calm, soothing flames flaring in the cool night breeze to a wild fire. She could see her memories within them. Playing back to her as if someone had recorded them somewhere and were using the flames as a stage to show to her the things she had tried her hardest to forget. But they were there, they always were and now they were replaying themselves in front of her eyes.

She saw the flames mimic a bed - she was in it. She saw a room that lay cold and silent with the mild taste of dust and damp scenting the air – it was Balmora. She felt alone, isolated, tired and defeated – it was home. The thin blanket covering her shivering, half naked body lay saturated, soaked through every fibre, each coated in a thick layer of the tears of an innocent child. With the scratchy sheets wrapped around her feeble body, she curled up into a tight ball, weeping silently into a pillow she had lodged between her knees and face till it matched the consistency of the sheets, secured in a chocking bundle around her supple frame. There was no sound – you could almost hear the dust falling around the scene. Moonlight seeped in through the open windows, illuminating the room allowing the normally unseen dust to stick out and beam down with the rays of light.

The sound of footsteps approaching stifled her pathetic cries. Her breath froze. She knew what was coming next. She buried her head further under the covers, using her shaking knees to cover the top of her exposed skull entirely – hair tickling the small caps of her knees and teasing the sensitive skin that hung to her bones.

Time froze as the door eased open. Slowly at first, making a soft creak as it did so and ended with a light tap as it lent to rest on the wall that stood tall and proud beside it. She always knew what was coming next. It was the same every time.

The covers creased slightly and the bed groaned as the weight of another sat on the edge. She froze, not moving or breathing; just fearing. She felt a strong hand rest heavily upon her now still leg. Shutting her eyes tight, attempting to block out the on coming words that were repeated time and time again.

Suddenly, stillness arose over the young girl. She felt her fear wash away, her emotions taken – her capturer seizing them and replacing them with nothing. It was as if everything slowed and calmed – perfectly still – dead.

The phrase spoken echoed around her skull like a beating drum. A constant drone that never stopped.

"We're only doing this because we love you." - Softly spoken though gritted teeth and a stifled laugh.

Then the presence left, the flames died down and stopped dancing. The room returned to her. Still not breaking eye contact with the fire, her eyes watered salty tears coated in smoke, rolling seamlessly down her young, ash coloured skin, and staining light trails down her face at vertical angles. Her mind remained blank, just having relived the same memory that she hadn't had to endure for several years before running away, ripping her of all comprehendible emotions.

A wind blew suddenly and harshly, forcing the flames to die instantly, as a new wave of black smoke gushed around the room. Fumes now pumped into the small yurt, clogging the air with a thick cloud of the darkest vapour.

The child barely noticed the figured stood in the doorway – her eyes were still fixated by the fire, now dead, tears still tinting her face, leaking from the corners of her eyes and trickling silently into the crease of her closed, motionless mouth. She slowly let her eyes roll upwards; staring towards the door in the same was that she'd been looking into the fire, the only difference being the amount of wet, frozen tears stuck down tightly to her cheap skin. The darkened silhouette stood gracefully in the doorway. The light from the moons behind the figure seeped into the room, seamlessly creating ribbons of light that floated easily to every wall of the circular area, illuminating it and creating an almost holy image.

With the moon as a guide, the child could identify the shapely figure in the doorway. Her eyes traced the image before her. The rays from the moon crisped along an ancient hair line, allowing the child to see the glowing reflection of grey, almost light pink tinted, hair, sided down the middle with strands coming to rest on the woman's shoulders, overlapping her face and cheeks, ending with beads, pearls and assortment of other gem stones all attached to her hair in a decorative fashion. The high cheek bones stuck out sharp and pointed, she could clearly see the dominant features that purchased themselves on the woman's elderly face. Her ears followed a similar taste, curving and the bottom and ending in a tight, razor like point - matching the child's. Her deep ash skin reflected the rays warmly, allowing the girl to know exactly who it was.

The woman could identify the scene before her and the child sat weakly on the floor. As the moon's light came in from behind her, shining straight onto the child, her vision was far clearer. She recognised the same ashen skin, deep red eyes and sharply pointed ears of the girl. Her face changed however, when she noticed something alien about her appearance, something unnatural about the girl she knew. The tear trails which stained down her face stuck to her like glue and reflected out vibrantly towards the eyes of the other – the elder woman's breath caught in her throat at the sight.

Both frozen, the air lay thick and awkward, still coated in the smog from the bewildering fire which was fighting a dominative battle with the ribbons of light, sent down by the moons. A gust of wind blew throughout the yurt and the room seem to shake slightly, forcing the ash out and letting the moon stay victorious, now glazing around the space in a mix of a bright white haze and an eerie scent, echoing through the silence.

As the two gazed upon each other, the older woman stared worryingly towards the child who sat shivering in her rags she called 'clothes' - the younger girl looking back at her with little emotion in her face, other than that of distant and detached – still remaining eye contact through the silence, even though her mind was stuck somewhere else.

The woman was the first to make a move. Her expression clearly troubled by seeing the child in this state. She travelled over to her. Slowly at first but picking up speed in her step slightly when you saw the child's gaze change from the woman, to the ground and the dead fire, now smouldering with the moonlight dancing around it victorious and her lip tremble slightly – desperately trying to stay strong. The elder crouched down next to the girl, being careful not to sit on the edges of her rags which flared out slightly at the edges, allowing the excess fabric to trail on the floor around her. With one hand, the woman reached out towards the younger's face and turned it to encounter hers. Gazing into the face with deep curiosity, as if she was trying to read any signals that the girl was even alive. She reached out an aged, wrinkled finger and trailed it lightly along the girls face careful, allowing her finger to gently brush one of the tear lines that streamed down the girls face, collecting the tears along the circle of her index finger. She held her finger up towards the door where the moon shined through – now acting as the only light source in the room – she used it to confirm her fears.

The child lifted up her head slightly as she felt the hand supporting her jaw line leave her delicate face and travel round to the back of her head. Soon, another hand joined it there. Two aging hands cupped her face and pulled it upwards, allowing the old woman to plant a light, delicate kiss on her forehead. She held her breath and gently shut her eyes as another wave of tears fell through the corners, allowing them to freely be released this time, falling straight onto the woman's knee and missing her face completely. After the pair of crusted, chapped lips brushed away from her sensitive skin, the hands removed themselves from her head and landed onto her shoulder blades on her back, and pushed her lightly towards the woman in front of her body. He head landed on the woman's shoulder with a silent rustle as she stroked her face into the material which lay on the woman's skin, hanging off her body in a relaxed manor. One of the arms supporting her weight as she lent against the women's body left her briefly and fell delicately onto one of her legs, lifting it silently and was placed around the woman's waist. The other leg followed. She was now sat on the woman's lap, their bodies entwined, as the girl lay lifeless in the woman's embrace, her eyes still trailing along the floor not daring to look anywhere else.

Leaning her head to rest it upon the head of the child, the older woman sighed lightly into the cool night air, which now felt free and at ease, nearly all of the smoke cleared the room. The woman moved one of her fragile hands round the back of the now still child's head and stroked lightly at her hair, brushing the strands around with an almost nonexistent touch. She let her gaze float upwards slightly, looking towards the smoke and ash that reminded near the top of the yurt, still being forced out by the flowing ribbons of light which poured into the room. As a Wise Woman - an ancient role played by a woman of every Ashlander tribe, reading and interpreting dreams and prophecies and keeping the spiritual peace within the tribe, the secrets of which have been passed down for generations – she possesses skills that other's do not. She can see things that go unseen, and hear things that go unheard. As she watched the smoke circling around the roof of the yurt, she could see sparks of something twinkling from the fire, still alive and twirling about in a buzzing excitement. She soon realised that they were the child's memories – the visions she tried to forget and block out, all the things she refused to say, all the stories she refused to tell, brought back to her through the fire. As the women tried to use her powers of dream reading to zone in on the frenzied sparks, the girl groaned at the sudden pain in her skull from the intrusion of the aging presence attempting to read what she had tried so hard to keep hidden. The elder woman look shocked as she couldn't read the thoughts – a skill that always came so naturally to her – she was pushed out. The girl had refused to let her in again, turning her head away from the woman's warm, tender body sharply, denying the woman the right even further.

"Llaalnea..." the old woman whispered into the girl's hair, sighing at the sudden loss of the child's head resting on her shoulder. She planted soft kisses into Llaalnea's hair and laced several fingertips around her ear, stroking some strands of hair behind it.

Llaalnea turned her head to face the woman head on; giving her the eye contact she wanted, as the women's fingers slipped from the girl's ear to her neck, drawing patterns with her index finger onto her young, silky skin. The elder women let out a warming smile and their eyes met, causing Llaalnea to feel some kind of happiness inside as she finally felt safe, away from that place she'd seen in the flames, after all this time. Tears pricked in her eyes. She wrapped both of her skinny arms around the woman's neck and kept her bony legs in the same position around the elder's waist as they had been before, just squeezing her tightly as she buried her head deep within her chest and wept. The silence of the yurt filled once more with the sobbing of the child.

The woman gripped Llaalnea's small body tightly, supporting the tiny child's entire weight on her own. As the elder's eyes traced around the room until they settled on a neatly folded blanket in the corner of the room on one of the cracked tables. She picked up Llaalnea in her arms, cradling her as if she were a baby, skinny legs still wrapped around her waist, as she carried her over towards the blanket, picking it up in one quick movement, removing her hand from supporting Llaalnea's miniature weight only momentarily. Their bedrolls lay dampened against one of the circular faces of the yurt. The older woman's legs let out groans as she bent down slowly to pull back the covers of Llaalnea's bedroll and placed her supple body gently inside, lying down herself just next to her, shifting her position on the cold floor slightly so that Llaalnea could still feel her gentle, embracing touch.

Llaalnea's tears now fell onto the blanket that the woman had draped over the both of them, keeping them warm from the night's chilled breeze.

"Nibani..." She whispered, about to ask a question of the women caring for her. Llaalnea was greeted in return with soothing shushes as a rough, yet gentle, finger trailed lightly down her face, wiping away her tears, which repeatedly formed. Llaalnea shut her eyes and awaited her oncoming sleep as Nibani sung soft hymns and poems into her relaxed ears and caressed her body in a motherly way, almost cradling the girl as they both lay on the floor, side by side.

"What a wondrous love it is,

To bind two souls in faith,

Chained completely together

With never a false word,

Weal and woe, with and real,

Woven each together,

From first kiss to last breath,

First and last whispered in love."


End file.
